I let out a loud groan in frustration and he manages to capture my left wrist. “I’m not making any babies with you. You’re a cretin with stripper cooties.”
He pins the hand he captured to the bed.
“Yup.” His chuckles soften into snickers. “I’m a cretin with stripper cooties. Stripper cooties that are getting all over you…”
I suck in a breath then expel it in a deep, raspy sound that’s almost demonic. “You!”
I try to buck him off with every bit of strength I have and shove at his chest with my hand that’s still free.
But it’s all futile.
He’s too damn strong.
Dammit.
Still snickering at my attempts to fight him off, James grabs the hand on his chest and promptly pins it to the bed.
No matter how hard I buck, twist, or try to push him off, he easily keeps me pinned.
The only thing my struggle seems to accomplish is amusing him.
“Let me up!” I cry and strain up against his hold before I collapse against the bed and pout at him.
James shakes his head, some of his dark hair falling into his face and swaying in front of his eyes. “Not until I’m done getting my cretin stripper cooties all over you.”
Then he begins to do precisely that. Leaning down, he presses his chest against my chest and begins to rub it from side to side.
“Oh my god! I can’t believe you! You’re ridiculous!” I squeal and toss my head back and forth.
Straining again against his strength.
“I guess that’s better than being a cretin,” he laughs and begins to drag his chest down my body.
“Oh, you’re still a cretin! You’re a ridiculous cretin,” I declare.
Pausing at my stomach, he asks, “With stripper cooties, right?”
Then he waggles his eyebrows suggestively at me.
And I don’t know if it’s because the third time is the charm…
Or if it’s simply the silliness of the entire situation finally hitting me, but I feel laughter bubbling inside me.
Doing my best to keep a smile from cracking across my lips, I narrow my eyes at him and say, “Yes.”
He drawls out, “Well, if that’s the case…”
Using his nose, he nudges up my shirt and begins to rub his face against my belly.
I immediately jerk and try to twist out of his grip, the sensation slightly ticklish. “Oh my god, stop! Don’t do that!”
“Oh… is someone ticklish?” James chuckles against my stomach.
His breath alone nearly setting me off.
“Yes!” I gasp, still trying my best not to smile or laugh.
“Then I guess someone shouldn’t be calling people cretins with stripper cooties.”
Releasing his grip on my hands, his fingers immediately find my most ticklish spot—my armpits.
Squealing as they work against me, I try to slap him off. When that doesn’t work, I try to pull my arms down and roll to the side.
“No. Please. No,” I beg between gasps, only to break out into giggles a split-second later.
Mercilessly working his fingers against me, James asks, “What was that? You want this cretin to stop?”
“Yes, please!” I plead, tears of laughter filling my eyes as I look up at him.
His eyes laughing right back at me, James’s fingers slow. “Oh… well… since you asked nicely…”
I get one moment, one single moment to catch my breath and get myself under control.
Then he suddenly drags his hands down and starts to tickle my sides.
When I squeal, “Why?! Oh my god, why?!”
He cackles. “Sorry! I’m a cretin, I can’t control myself!”
I twist, squirm, writhe, and jerk beneath his hands, helpless as laughter pours out of me.
And as much as I hate it, hate being tickled and at his mercy, there’s something… cathartic about the whole thing.
Like some of the weight that’s been building up inside of me is easing.
He doesn’t let up, torturing me until I finally beg and cry, “Please James! I’m going to pee if you don’t stop!”
Finally his fingers slow, as if it pains him do to so, and he stares down at me while I pant up at him, catching my breath.
Eyes still alight with laughter, he just stares at me for the longest time. So long, it starts to make me feel self-conscious.
Squirming uncomfortably, I ask, “What?”
The way he’s looking at me, I swear I’ve got something on my face…
“You’re smiling,” he says, his eyes softening with a mixture of affection and awe as he reaches up, stroking his thumb just beneath the curve of my lips, tracing them.
When I start to frown, he frowns, and his fingers find my armpit again.
“James,” I squeal as he tickles me again, arching away from him. “I’m seriously going to pee my pants!”
“I don’t care if you pee all over the goddamn bed,” he declares. “It’s worth it to see you smile.”
My heart aches just a little at that. Aches that my smile, something I never think about, seems to be so important to him.